


There is no  I in  Team (Dragonstone)

by ariel2me



Series: Midsummer Murder Universe [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis, Justin Massey, Richard Horpe, road trip and team building exercise from hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon

It’s set in the universe of [Midsummer Murder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/847565), but you don’t have to read that one for this to make sense. Basically Stannis is a Detective Chief Inspector, Horpe and Massey are his Detective Sergeants who are both vying for promotion to Detective Inspector, and they are going to attend one of those dreaded team-building exercise/seminar thingy. Good times ; )

___________________

“I made a mixtape,” Justin announced, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Massey,” Stannis growled from the backseat.

“Your car doesn’t even have a tape deck,” Horpe scoffed from the passenger seat.

 _Keep calm and do not, I repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstances, drive the car into a ditch to silence these joy-deflater miserabilist naysayers_ , Justin reminded himself. “It’s a mix CD really, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it as a mixtape, does it?”

“Mix CD? What are you, a teenage boy trying to impress his first girlfriend? Did you put lots and lots of Coldplay in it?” Horpe asked, snickering.

 _Damn him, how did he know?_  

“Don’t worry,  _Richard_. I put some Radiohead in it too. You know, for those of us who prefer wrist-slitting, drown-in-your-bathtub music,” Justin replied, using Horpe’s first name deliberately to annoy him.

“Some of us prefer the original, instead of the wannabe pale imitation,  _Justin_ ,” Horpe replied. Wait, was that teeth-grinding Justin was hearing? Horpe trying to imitate Stannis?

 _Now who’s the wannabe pale imitation?_  Justin snickered.

But alas, no, the teeth-grinding was not coming from the passenger seat, but from the backseat. “If you two are going to get started on Radiohead versus Coldplay again …” Stannis warned ominously. “No music,” he snapped. “Some of us are trying to work, Massey.”

The guv was indeed buried with paperwork in the backseat.

And what … driving was not work? He should have let Horpe volunteer to drive the entire five-hour journey. But as usual, Justin had been overly eager and enthusiastic to prove himself useful to his boss.

Team-building exercise, in the middle of nowhere. “Waste of time,” DCI Stannis Baratheon had grumbled, when the memo passed his desk. “But regulation is regulation.” He paused, staring at the memo with distaste. “Let’s get it over with, so we can go back to doing our real job.”

“Team building? We’re coppers, not salesmen,” Horpe complained, after the boss was gone.

“Salesperson,” Justin corrected. “My, my, someone needs a refresher course on gender bias.”

“Someone needs a refresher course on sexual harassment,” Horpe retorted.

Was that a dig about his fling with Detective Sergeant Arianne Martell? There was nothing against regulation about it; they were both consenting adults, DS Martell was of the same rank as Justin, and she worked for a different team. They had not broken any rule. Justin had checked. Working under a known stickler for rules and regulations like Stannis Baratheon, Justin had made sure to check.

Arianne had laughed at Justin’s sudden and uncharacteristic diligence about being a stickler for the rules. “Off to impress the new boss, are you?” They had worked together as PC-plodders patrolling the streets way back when. Justin had not been so diligent about following the rules back then, when he and Arianne had their first fling, back when they were partners and were both still in uniform.

“You’re close to the speed limit, Massey. Slow down,” Stannis’ stern voice startled Justin from his contemplation. He braked sharply, eliciting a sharp “Christ!” from Horpe and an angry “Justin!” from Stannis.

 _Well, at least he’s calling me Justin._ Only the third time since Justin had joined Stannis’ team.

Well,  _of course_  he kept track. Who wouldn’t? Everyone would, Justin defended himself. Horpe certainly would.

“Sorry, guv,” Justin apologised.  _You startled me_! Not that Justin was going to say that in front of Stannis. 

“Would you like me to drive, sir?” Horpe asked, faking concern and worry.

_Like hell you would! This is my car, not yours._

“DS Massey seems distracted this morning, for whatever reason,” Horpe continued, pretending to be oblivious to the dark looks Justin was shooting at him.

Stannis seemed to be considering Horpe’s offer, to Justin’s great dismay.  _Oh for the love of god! Come on guv, have some faith in me._

Stannis shook his head. “DS Massey volunteered to drive us there, he bloody well  _will_ get us there. In the meantime, try not to kill us all, will you, Massey? It’s tempting, I know.”

Ouch! Justin winced. Even Horpe looked almost sorry for him.

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied, too brightly, with a smile plastered on his face.

“Nothing ever gets you down, does it?” Horpe whispered to Justin, his voice a mixture of wonder and exasperation. “You just go on and on no matter what, smiling that smug smile of yours.”

“I prefer to think of it as my  _charming_  smile, Richard,” Justin whispered back. “You should try smiling more often. It will help with your grouchy constitution.”

“Grouchy?!” Horpe was no longer whispering. “I’ll show you grouchy if you really-“

Stannis coughed, once.

They drove in silence for the next twenty minutes. Justin was itching to turn on the radio, or put on his mix CD, but glancing at the backseat, he saw that Stannis was still busy reading some document or other. Horpe had fallen asleep, his head lolling from side to side. He wasn’t drooling though, more’s the pity.

 _Easy enough to photoshop some drool dribbling down the corners of his mouth_ , Justin mused.

“Don’t,” Stannis warned.

“Guv?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, Massey,  _don’t_. Using your phone while driving constitutes an offense. I will have to write you a ticket.”

“I wasn’t going to use my phone,” Justin protested.

“Not even to take pictures of Horpe in dreamland?” Stannis accused.

_I give up, I really do. Is he a mind-reader as well as a detective?_

That could explain DCI Baratheon’s higher-than-average case clearance rate.

“Your face, Justin. It’s not very subtle. If you hope to make a good detective, it would help if people can’t read all your thoughts from your facial expression,” Stannis said.

“Yes, sir,” Justin replied swiftly.

“That was never going to be a problem for me, I was told by my training officer,” Stannis continued.

Sure as hell not, Justin thought, seeing as Stannis always looked as if he had just been sucking on a lemon, no matter what he was actually thinking or feeling at the time.

_Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon_

_Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon_

_Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon_

Christ! Now he was the one being haunted by Radiohead and their miserabilist lyrics. Justin couldn’t get the bloody thing out of his head.

_Yesterday I woke up -_

_I blame Horpe!_

Justin blamed Horpe for most things these days. It made him feel better. Well, it did most of the time anyway.


	2. How to disappear completely

**Team Effectiveness Checklist**

“Right. Shall we start, guv?”

“Just get on with it, Massey,” Stannis growled.

“Question 1: Do team members need to get to know one another better? Well, I reckon -”

“No,” replied Stannis, decisively.

“No,” echoed Horpe, adamantly.

Justin protested. “Now hold on guys. Remember what the facilitators said?”

“If you’re going to say ‘ _there is no I in team_ ’ Massey, you’re taking the bus home,” threatened Horpe.

 _I drove you two here in my bloody car!_ “We’re to take the time to consider each question carefully, they said, remember?”

“It’s been considered, carefully, and the answer is still no,” said Stannis. “I have both your personnel files memorized forwards and backwards. Next question.”

Justin sighed, and proceeded to read the next question on the checklist. “Question 2: Are there conflicts between certain members creating division within the team?” He looked up from the piece of paper he was reading to see Stannis glaring pointedly at him and Horpe.

“Healthy competition breeds results,” Horpe said.

“Childish bickering doesn’t,”Stannis retorted.

“I don’t bicker,” Justin objected.

Horpe rolled his eyes. “Oh please.”

“They don’t pay me to be a kindergarten teacher,” Stannis grumbled. “Next question, Massey.”

“Question 3: Are some members resistant to change, and does this affect the group’s ability to move forward?” Justin read.

This time, two pairs of eyes stared meaningfully at Stannis. “What?” Stannis asked, sounding offended.

“Nothing,” Justin replied quickly.

“Not a thing,” Horpe said, following closely behind.

“DI Seaworth would not have been afraid to tell me the truth,” Stannis snapped.

“Hmm,” Horpe commented.

“Well, there it is,” Justin muttered under his breath.

Stannis looked puzzled for a few moments, before finally getting it. “Ah. I see,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Justin squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s not that we don’t understand the close bond between you and DI Seaworth, guv. You’ve worked together for many years, you can’t buy that kind of trust and affection. And we know neither one of us can hold a candle to DI Seaworth when it comes to being a detective. But … well, we just … we …” Justin paused, struggling to find the right words.

“We want the chance to prove ourselves, sir. To show that you can count on us like you counted on DI Seaworth,” Horpe said, finding the words for both of them.

Stannis was silent for a long time. Justin and Horpe exchanged wary glances.

 _We’re dead_ , Justin lamented. _Why did I open my mouth?_  Why did Horpe open his mouth, for that matter?

Because Davos Seaworth would have done so. Because Stannis might grumble and grouse when being told a bitter and inconvenient truth, but he would remember them later, the people willing to risk his anger and displeasure for the sake of telling the brutal, honest truth.

At the moment though, Stannis’ silence and barely suppressed fury was making Justin very, very nervous.  

Well, at least he and Horpe were _both_ in hot water this time, Justin thought, to console himself.

“This is progress of sort,” Stannis finally said. “Horpe and Massey on the same side, using ‘ _we_ ’ as a pronoun. How very touching,” he said dryly.  

If Justin did not know his boss better, he could have sworn there was a hint of an amused smile on Stannis’ lips. Justin chanced a funny remark, something to make Stannis laugh. “Oh it was a royal ‘ _we_ ’, guv, not a collective one. Believe me, there is no ‘ _we_ ’ in Horpe and Massey.”

Horpe, of course, had to spoil everything by taking offense and accusing Justin of being _a right bloody snob._ “I guess people who grew up in council flats are not good enough for the royal ‘ _we_ ’, unlike the offsprings of minor earls,” Horpe said bitterly.

 _It was a joke, a fucking joke_! Something to cheer their boss up. Why did Horpe have to ruin everything?

Then again, Richard Horpe had never been known for his sense of humor, dry or otherwise. Justin felt a headache coming.  

_That there, that’s not me._

_I’m not here, this isn’t happening_.

Justin repeated the Radiohead lyrics like a mantra in his head. He would pay good money if someone could actually teach him how to disappear completely from Horpe’s company.  

 

**Back-to-back Drawing**

“It’s a shape with three sides,” Horpe gave the first clue.

Justin protested loudly before Stannis could start drawing. “Oh come on! That’s cheating. The rules said we’re supposed to give clues, not tell the other person exactly what the shape is.”

“Since when are you such a stickler for rules? Anyway, I didn’t say _triangle_ ,” Horpe protested. “I said a shape with three sides.”

“What else could a shape with three sides be?” Justin asked, incredulous. “ _Of course_ it’s a triangle.”

“Actually, it could be any number of things,” Stannis said. “A shape with three sides is a very vague clue. It could describe a right triangle, or an isosceles, or a rectangle with one side missing, or a pentagon with two sides missing, or a –“

“We should move on to the next drawing,” Horpe swiftly interjected, to Justin’s great relief. They both knew how long-winded Stannis could be once he got started on his favorite hobby – being a world-class, Olympic-gold-medal-winning pedantic pedant.

 _Thanks_ , Justin silently mouthed to his colleague, and to his surprise, Horpe actually took it with good graces this time.

 

**Plane Crash Survival Scenario**

“If there’s only space for two people on that life-boat, which one of us will be left behind?” Justin asked.

“That’s not in the rules,” Stannis and Horpe both said, almost at the same time. “There is enough space for everyone,” Horpe continued. “We’re only deciding on which items to bring to the desert island.”

“No, no, I know what the rules say. But let’s say, okay. Let’s just say there’s not enough space in the life-boat. It’s a hypothetical. Which one of us would be left behind?” Justin persisted.

“No one,” Stannis insisted, “because the rules say -“

 _Fuck the rules_ , Justin thought, but of course he knew better than to say _that_ in front of Stannis. “The boat sprang a leak, let’s say, and it can’t handle the weight of three people onboard, or it might sink. Who would you vote to leave off the life-boat?“

“You,” Horpe declared, “for being such an annoying twat.”

“You’re both assuming that we’d take a vote, that that’s how we would decide. It doesn’t have to be a vote. We could draw straws,” Stannis pointed out.

“And leave it to chance?” Justin asked, surprised. “I never figured you as someone who would leave things to chance, guv.”

“Much as I hate leaving anything to chance, in certain circumstances, drawing straws could end up being the fairest method. Otherwise it might devolve into a popularity contest, who’s charming and likeable, who’s not,” Stannis replied.

“What if we can’t agree on the way to decide? Do we vote on the method to decide, before _actually_ deciding who should be left behind? What if each one of us wants to use different method?” Horpe volleyed a barrage of questions.

Stannis and Justin both groaned, audibly. “Let’s not make this more complicated than it already is, Horpe. I would like us to leave and go back to doing our _actual_ job sometime in _this_ century,” Stannis said.

“If you had to decide, guv, who would you kick off the life-boat?” Justin asked. “Richard, or me?”

“Ah. I see,” Stannis said, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t about plane crash and life-boat at all. It’s about the promotion.”

Justin didn’t bother denying anything.

“Shameless. You really _are_ shameless, Justin,” Horpe muttered under his breath.

“I’m still collecting all the relevant information,” Stannis said.

“But you’re not collecting information here, right, guv?” Justin asked, suddenly feeling nervous. “I mean, none of us wanted to come. It’s a distraction from the _real_ work we’re supposed to be doing, you said so yourself, guv.”

“Don’t worry, Justin. Your boundless enthusiasm has been noted and recorded,” Stannis replied, and for the life of him, Justin could not figure out if Stannis meant to be sarcastic, or not.

 


	3. Karma Police

Two beds in the room, a queen and a single.  _Of course_  he and Horpe had to share. Look at Horpe, sitting on his side of the bed calmly reading a newspaper without a care in the world, Radiohead blaring from his laptop speaker. Stannis has been in the bathroom for  _ages_ , doing god knows what behind that locked door.

_Could it be …_

Justin glances at the bathroom door.  _But surely not?_  Not Stannis Baratheon. Not his straight-laced boss.

_Why not? He’s a man, just like yours truly here._

A man with much less hair than Justin, granted, but a man still.

_A man has needs._

_This is what you’ll get, when you mess with the man,_ sings Thom Yorke in that whiny, grating voice of his. Justin grits his teeth.  _My god, the guv is infecting me_. How long before he starts grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw, too?

He turns to Horpe, bored out of his mind, which explains the truly asinine question he asks next. “So who’s the man, then?”

“What man?”

“ _The man_. The man you’re not supposed to mess with.”

“The man with whom you’re not supposed to mess.”

Justin rolls his eyes. “Are you Stannis?”                                                    

Horpe doesn’t even deign to reply. Continues calmly reading his paper, couldn’t even be bothered to get angry like he usually would when Justin needles him about trying too hard to imitate their boss.    

Justin sighs. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought that mixtape after all, Richard, so you can listen to Radiohead to your heart’s content.”  _While ignoring me._ While pointedly and deliberately ignoring Justin.

This time though, Horpe does deign to reply. “Mix CD. Always use the correct words.”

“And correct grammar,” Justin adds.

Horpe looks up from the paper. There is something in his eyes, a glint of something completely unfamiliar to Justin in Richard Horpe. Amusement? Could it really be _that,_ the strange expression on Horpe’s face?

For a moment, Justin could have sworn Horpe is almost smiling. But then, Stannis’ raised voice coming from the bathroom turns Horpe’s face back to his usual disapproving expression, and the moment is gone, fleeting as it is.

“What do you think Stannis is doing in there?” Justin asks.

“None of our business,” Horpe declares, turning his attention back to the newspaper on his lap.

“Come on, you almost smiled before. Admit it. We  _almost_  shared a moment.”

“Sharing a moment making fun of our boss is not anything to be proud of,” Horpe says, voice dripping with stern disapproval.

“It’s not ‘ _making fun’_  of him. We’re gently poking fun at his foibles and peculiarities. Because we’re actually fond of him.”

“I don’t see the difference,” scoffs Horpe.   

 _Well, fine, then, Mr Grumpy Pants._ “Radiohead off, please,” he tells Horpe, grumpily. “Some people need their eight hours of sleep.”

Justin expects Horpe to snicker, to reply _, “Afraid to miss your beauty sleep, pretty boy?_ ” Instead, Horpe’s only move is to insert the headphone jack on the side of his laptop, finally silencing the endless drone of Thom Yorke and his band of unmerry brothers. 

Justin makes a big to-do of plumping the pillow, smoothing the sheet and getting under the blanket noisily. Utterly pointless, as it turns out, since Horpe’s ears are glued to his headphone.  

Well, if Horpe and Stannis are both determined to ignore him, his dream will keep him company at least.

“Hmmph,” Justin harrumphs.  

Headphone off now, Horpe says, “Oh grow up, Justin. Stop sulking like a little boy denied boiled sweets.”

 _No one eats boiled sweets these days, Gramps,_  he wants to say. He stays silent, though, ignoring Horpe’s comment. Two can play at this game after all. The ignoring game.

“His daughter,” Horpe finally says, after a while, when Justin’s eyes are already at half-mast. “Stannis is talking to his daughter on his phone. That’s what he’s doing in there.”

Startled, eyes wide open now, Justin repeats, “His daughter?” He winces, ashamed, recalling his previous speculation. Thank heavens no one will ever,  _ever_ , in a million years find out about that.

He’s not willing to concede the point to Horpe so easily, though.

“How would  _you_  know, Sherlock?” Justin asks, trying to sound skeptical.

“I can tell. His voice is different when he’s talking to her.”

Justin sits up, the thought of sleep long gone now. “Different how?”

“I don’t know, just … different.”

“Not as stern and disapproving, you mean?” Or stern and greatly unimpressed, which in a way is more terrifying to Justin. It reminds him of the paintings of his long-dead ancestors with their sharp gaze that seems to follow you around the room, never letting you out of their sight, never letting you go.

Justin remembers seeing Stannis with his daughter Shireen on a few occasions. Stannis had looked almost unsure of himself, uncertain of his footing, which is something Justin never thought he would ever say about his boss, the man who had always seemed to know what must be done, not to mention the right way to do it to minute and detail specifications.

Then again, children are not underlings. They can’t be ordered and commanded willy-nilly, not these days, which makes them harder to deal with, Justin muses. Especially for someone like Stannis.

And yet, Stannis has made his way in the force from the bottom, just like Justin and Richard. Starting in uniform, a Police Constable; before successive promotions to Detective Constable, Detective Sergeant, Detective Inspector, finally reaching his current rank of Detective Chief Inspector. Stannis has had many bosses. Still has a boss now, for that matter. The man can’t be as inflexible and stone-stubborn as he sometimes seems to appear, as some people accuse him to be, or he would not have survived as long as he has in the force.

 _Results_ , Justin thinks.  _He gets results. He solves cases. He’s great at his job._  But would that have been enough?

His musing is interrupted when Stannis abruptly opens the bathroom door with a thud, startling not just Justin, but Horpe, too. Horpe looks like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Horpe looks guilty. Guilty as hell.

_Well, well, Richard. What wicked things have you been thinking about our boss?_

Not that there is a chance in hell Horpe would ever tell Justin anything about it.

“Take Your Child to Work day, when is it?” Stannis growls.

“Two … no, three weeks from next Tuesday, sir,” Horpe replies, still looking flustered.   

“Your daughter would like to come, guv?” Justin asks brightly. Horpe kicks his left foot, warning him off the subject. Anything personal is taboo with Stannis. Complete and absolute no-go area, do not pass, do not even attempt to cross. Don’t ask him about his family. Or his brothers. Not his brothers, not  _them_ , especially. 

Stannis is too distracted to notice the back-and-forth glances between Justin and Horpe. He nods, looking at his phone as if worried -  _or hoping?_  - that his daughter might still be on the line. “Yes. Yes, she does. Shireen wants me to take her.” He sounds amazed, as if his daughter had asked him to take her to the moon.   

“Is she interested in the police force as a career?” Justin continues, encouraged by Stannis’ reply. Horpe is rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.  _You’re on your own, mate. Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

“Not really,” Stannis replies.

“I don’t think so,” he says, slightly later.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. Still looking at his phone, he adds, quietly, as if talking to himself, or maybe to the picture of his daughter, “What kind of father doesn’t know?”

Horpe is looking extremely uncomfortable, his eyes darting here, there and everywhere except in Stannis’ direction. Horpe is looking as if their boss has suddenly taken off all his clothes and is dancing stark naked on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure why she wants to come, actually,” Stannis adds.  

“She wants to see what her father does for a living,” Justin replies.

“She knows what I do for a living.”

“But not  _how_  you do it, not the day-to-day reality of it,” Horpe finally chimes in, finally looking at Stannis.

Justin had spent some time watching his father in his office, where his father’s work, such as it was, the day-to-day reality of it, seemed to consist mostly of calling his lawyers complaining about taxes, demanding that his lawyers find new ways to avoid more taxes, and grumbling about the evils of taxation eating up his hard-earned inheritance. Would Stannis’ daughter be similarly disillusioned with her father? Probably not, Justin thinks. Her father has a real job that could make an actual difference, if he does it well. Which was what Justin himself had been looking for all those years ago, before he joined the force.

Later, in the dark, with the lights out, with Stannis safely asleep in the single bed, Justin would confide some of this to Horpe. At first, his motive is opaque even to himself. He is used to the “spoiled pretty rich boy” sneer coming from Horpe by now; it is not because of that. But it is dark, he is lonely, and Horpe,  _this_ Horpe who earlier had looked at the uncertain, grappling Stannis with something close to understanding, proves to be a seductive listener.

“My grandmother used to work in a restaurant not far from my school,” Horpe says, in return. “I saw her at work every day walking home from school, from the restaurant’s window. I saw how hard she worked, my old Nan, I saw the rude customers, the shouting managers.  _I’ll get a job_ , I told her.  _To help out._  She wouldn’t hear of it.  _Finish school, and get yourself a proper job, promise me that._ ”     

“What about your father?”  

“Not around.”

“Your mother?”

“Not reliable.”

Justin could think of nothing to say. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, knowing how inadequate that is.

“Why? Not your fault, is it?”

Justin takes it to be an encouraging sign that this time, Horpe does not immediately bite his head off –  _how dare you feel sorry for me?!_  It is how he would have taken it before, as an insult.

He changes the subject. “Pity we don’t have children to take to work. Show them how hard Daddy is working, how good he is at his job.”

“Daddy? Really?”   

“Well, Papa then.”

“Pfft. Even worse.”

“What, your children are going to call you Father, like the stern father of the Victorian age?”

“Why not? It’s very dignified, Father.”

“Dada? How about Dada?”

“Oh please.”

“Fafa?”  

“You’re the child, Justin. Honestly.” But Horpe is smiling, Justin could tell from his voice.

He falls asleep wondering what Shireen Baratheon calls her father.  

**Author's Note:**

> I do not necessarily share Justin's opinion about Radiohead, hehe.


End file.
